Hermione's Solution
by SeaTurtle77
Summary: The war is finally over, but irreversible damage had been done to the Wizarding World. Hermione, set adrift without a purpose, fights to control her destiny- along the way finding a family and realizing that perhaps it's best to have faith and keep moving forward. AU; war lasts 3 years longer. A time travel story, told in one-shots. ON HIATUS
1. To Repair Time

**For returning readers:**

 **Rewrite now includes the solution to Isaac Newton's problem in chapter 14, orphanage scenes, and Hermione's backstory. On hiatus for the school year.**

 **Love,**

 **SeaTurtle77**

* * *

In the crater where the Department of Mysteries used to be, she paused amidst the rubble. The stone arch still stood. It had been oblivious to the many battles that had been held at the Ministry, absorbing any spell, object, or person thrown at it.

Hermione often wondered about the Veil, ever since Sirius died in her fifth year. The dark curtain rippled, with strange whispers beckoning. She didn't suppose any Muggles had discovered it since the Ministry building itself had collapsed, although it was hard to miss a kilometer-wide hole in the ground. Perhaps it was in a separate dimension.

She focused again on the task at hand, trying to gather enough grains of time-sand to refill a magical hourglass. They were shattered across the ground, mixed in with dirt and pieces of stone and tile. The main problem of Time-Turners, however, is that they only take the traveler back a few hours. She needed years and years. It was frustrating. She felt the pull towards the Veil again, and this time, she walked up the dais. Her outstretched hand did not reappear at the other side. She flexed her fingers, feeling the cool, soft sensation. She stretched her arm further in, then withdrew and inspected it. It didn't look dead. She thought of other worlds that it could lead to, parallel universes where she lived her life like she would have if everything had just turned out right.

Quantum physics said that time was divided into slices. Each frame of time was a different world, that branched off with every decision or random happenstance. Those branches would never meet again. If she would just travel along the branch, backwards, to the place where it all changed for the worse… There was the Time-Turner problem. There was the problem of where Sirius went when he fell through the Veil. She kept carefully refilling, watching the grains magically trickle in. The Veil beckoned. What if, she questioned, one combined the two? Both took you somewhere, even if it was the spiritual realm.

She stood up and twisted the tiny hourglass, now repaired. With the Time-Turner still spinning, Hermione stepped backward into the Veil with a small thrill of anticipation. What did she have to lose?


	2. Everyone Gets a Second Chance

Time travel was a curious sensation, like Apparition, only for longer. This did make sense, Hermione mused, because space was intimately connected to time; hence the phrase "space-time." The suffocating sensation was probably due to passing through the fifth dimension.

Suddenly Hermione could breathe again. She opened her eyes and saw, quite unexpectedly, King's Cross Station- only much brighter, with no one in sight and a strange mist making it seem softer and unclear.

This wasn't mentioned in the quantum physics textbook.

Hermione turned around, and saw Professor Dumbledore standing behind her. He looked just the same as when she last saw him, magnificent in his billowing, bright robes, beard blown by an unfelt wind like a sage of old. He looked powerful and disapproving.

"I've messed up the space-time continuum, haven't I?" She sighed resignedly to her dead Headmaster.

Dumbledore shook his head knowingly. "You can't do anything like that, fortunately. But what you did was horribly wrong. You're going to die for it."

There was a terrible silence.

"So be it," said Hermione. "Is there an afterlife?"

"Death is but the next great adventure," intoned Dumbledore, "But it isn't an adventure one willingly seeks. This will not come to end the way you imagine."

"What do you mean?"

"You are being offered a very powerful and very real choice. You could pass on to what lies ahead for you. Or you could be sent back to where you would give everyone a second chance."

"Time travel, like I thought," Hermione breathed. "I'll do it."

"There will be no second chances for you," he said.

Hermione shook her head. "Oh, never mind that. I don't care."

Dumbledore looked at her in a way that made her feel ashamed. "Exactly why you shouldn't do it," he warned. "But you'll find out soon enough."

Hermione spread her arms wide, and smiled. "Shoot," she said, and she was plunged into darkness.


	3. The Last Order Meeting

_-Flashback-_

 _She looked around at the small assembly before her. All weary faces, what remained of the Order, now headquartering in a hideout in New York City. With the death of Voldemort, the Death Eaters had disbanded, and the past year was spent hunting down what remained of the Dark forces. It was time to return to normal life._

 _Seamus was right up in the front, as always. He had a little sister back in Ireland, a Squib that miraculously survived Voldemort's Muggleborn genocide, and was going to take her on a world tour. Timothy and Dorothea had a baby, wanted to move to Wyoming to start over, and to take care of Tim's aging father. Pansy, Hannah, and Parvati sat next to each other, having bonded despite their differences, and were going to open a department store here in New York. Cecilia's Muggle family had survived, and she was going back to Boston for university. Others sat around the table, talking quietly. Emily Guillermo, the Secretary of State of MACUSA, was perched on a stool, observing the last meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. "Okay, shoot," she said with a wave. "Make it meaningful."_

 _Hermione sucked in a breath. "I don't know what to say, to all of you," she addressed them. "You've been like family these few years. Fighting the dark side, and all that, you know?"_

" _Good times," said Cecilia. Her face grew sad; she had lost her fiancé a few months ago, to a stray Dementor in New Orleans._

" _I'd like to thank you Americans for helping us out, especially you, Emily, from the start. It touched our hearts that you would give up your livelihoods and your lives to help fight an enemy overseas." Ever since Emily came forward offering political asylums to British refugees from Voldemort's campaign, without Congress's support, America had been drawn into aiding the rebellion against the Ministry. British and American wizards had combined their cultures and forged new relationships, as shown with Tim and Dorothea's marriage._

" _The magical communities need to stay vigilant, stay together," acknowledged Emily. "A threat to our allies is a threat to us."_

" _Still, it was a huge political gamble you took, going against the Ministry and Congress," Hermione pressed. "We're grateful."_

 _Emily inclined her head, and she continued. "You're all capable of defending your families, should there be any further attacks, but the MACUSA Department of Defense has you covered, for those of you staying in the States. Um, for those of you going to travel or go somewhere else, well, stay safe, don't get too isolated."_

 _Hannah piped up. "What about you, Hermione? Where are you going?"_

 _She paused. There was no place she had in mind, except for Hogwarts. But that was long destroyed. In the silence, there was an outpouring of sympathy._

" _Stay with us, we have an apartment," said Pansy. "It'll be fun."_

" _Just like old times," added Parvati, her former Housemate._

" _You're a brilliant leader," Emily complimented her. "The State Department could really use your insight."_

" _Thanks, all of you," said Hermione. "I don't know, well, I guess I'll go back to England. Try to salvage the libraries there, or something. You know, me and my research, hmm?"_

 _They weren't too convinced. Hermione then asked Emily about the British Colonization Society they had talked of starting up, the one where American wizards, if they were interested, could get a free home in England, just to build up its magical community again. But funds were lacking, and no one was interested in war-torn goods. They agreed it probably would be for the best if they stayed clear of establishing a government on the isle just yet._

" _They would all elect you for Minister, though," said Tim._

" _Yeah, I'm not too keen on that," said Hermione._

 _It was a tearful farewell, but not really. They had a hope and a future._


	4. To Break Several International Laws

Hermione sat up, with the feeling that something profound and immensely spiritual had happened to her. It was also cold. She was at the edge of the frozen Black Lake. Hogwarts itself rose majestically behind her, its forbidding Lancet-style early Gothic turrets and spires gave her a sense of nostalgia. It was time to find out what Dumbledore meant when he said there would be no second chances for her, because this looked suspiciously like a second chance. She stood, brushed the snowflakes off her robes, and made for the castle.

At her knock, the double oak doors were opened by a dour, suspicious man.

Hermione smiled politely. "Hello, sir. I was wondering if I could talk to Professor Dumbledore?"

"And who might you be?" The man squinted at her.

"Hermione. Hermione Granger. I've got some business to discuss with him."

He eyed her unconventional robe style. "Where'd you come from?"

"I just got back from the United States." It wasn't a lie. "It's a private matter, please, I won't make any trouble."

"Follow me, then," he said.

Hogwarts wasn't changed much. The were some unfamiliar portraits, but everything else was the same. The castle was notably empty. "Holiday break?" she inquired of her reluctant guide.

"Yes." After a while, he added, "It's the only reason I'm letting you in."

Just then, a wizard swept past them.

"Dumbledore?" Hermione gaped.

Dumbledore was much, much younger. His grey-brown beard and hair was shorter. The only reason Hermione recognized him was his twinkling blue eyes.

Dumbledore stopped. "Hello, Apollyon. Who might this be?"

"She says her name is Hermione Granger, and that she had business with you." The man, presumably the caretaker before Argus Filch, Apollyon Pringle, said gruffly.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hermione pretended to be shocked. "I'm astounded that you cannot remember me. We bonded over, um, lemon drops at the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers meeting a few years ago, remember?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment. Then his eyes twinkled. "Ms. Granger! How good to see you again. You've grown. Let's talk in my office, shall we? Thank you, Apollyon."

"Hmph," said Apollyon Pringle, and shuffled away.

Once he had shut the door, Dumbledore turned grave. "Now, what is this all about? I'm not a member of the Most Extraordinary Society."

Hermione felt very, very tired all of a sudden. "Excuse me, sir. What date is it?"

"Tuesday, 17th December, 1935," said Dumbledore.

"1935," repeated Hermione. She did the math. 1935... Which means, at the moment, Voldemort was eight. She chuckled at the thought- inwardly, of course. If she managed to convert Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, she should say, to the Light, all her problems would be solved. And those of the entire British magical community, eleven thousand people. It must be the task the dream Dumbledore had given her.

The real Dumbledore gestured for her to take a seat in front of his desk, the same desk used by Professor McGonagall in her Hogwarts years.

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you." Hermione was hit with yet another wave of nostalgia. "You might find this hard to believe, Professor, but I'm from the future."

"I guessed as much," Dumbledore agreed. "You are breaking several international laws. I hope this is important."

"There's going to be a Wizarding War, Professor Dumbledore. Three, actually, but I don't think I could do anything about the first one. It won't be just Hogwarts that will be destroyed. The Ministry, and Diagon Alley, and the entire magical community. Many, many people will be killed. Something's already happening now, and it'll be too late soon. I think that's all I can tell you. I need to insert myself into this timeline and fix it."

"And… when are you from?" he asked weakly.

"2001."

"2001," repeated Dumbledore. "That would be… 66 years from now."

"That's correct, Professor."

"Why have you come to me for help?"

Hermione shrugged. "You were my Headmaster, and appeared at the entrance to the afterlife when I almost died. Instinctual trust, I think."

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "Don't give me any more information, although I'm dying to know. I will assist you, as one of my future students." He closed his eyes for a second. "I've always dreamt of meeting a time traveler, but it feels a little anticlimactic, you know?"


	5. The Fake American Accent

Dumbledore graciously introduced Hermione to Headmaster Armando Dippet and the rest of the Hogwarts staff as a friend of his, and gave her a room in the castle. They were curious about her, wondering why they didn't remember her as a student. She told them she was homeschooled, and partially educated at Ilvermorny. Fortunately, she picked up a plausible enough American accent from Emily, Tim and Cecilia to demonstrate.

Horace Slughorn was the same as Hermione remembered, only much younger. "Are you by any chance related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, founder of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?" he asked her curiously at dinner. It was the same question from all those years ago.

"No, I'm Muggleborn," she replied.

Slughorn laughed. "You sure about that? Every child born to that family has been a Squib, what a pity. I suggest you go to Gringotts and get a blood test."

"Oh, I don't know, Professor," she said. "We're betting on an awful lot here."

"Well, it's worth a try, I always say!" said Slughorn cheerily, no doubt wanting to make a new influential acquaintance.

Hermione agreed. She needed to establish some kind of family name. If they didn't go through, she could just fake the papers.


	6. Hermione Gets a Blood Test

Hermione wondered why all the important transactions were done at Gringotts instead of the Ministry. Surely the government had more use for records of magical lineages than the goblins did. It all boiled down to trust, however, and each race distrusted the other. It was a pity. The interest rate at Gringotts was lucrative, and it seemed like no one had ever heard of a credit system. Cecilia would have wept in despair.

Fortunately for her, the bank representative goblin, Nagrod, did find that her blood matched Hector Dagworth-Granger's. It was all very exciting, he told her. No heir to the wizard had been found since the 18th century. Hector had no children, so the property would have passed to his sister, who married a Muggle and had Squib children who got Muggle educations and disappeared out of Gringotts' radar. It was a win-win situation for Hermione and the bank. She got a piece of land, a house, and some gold, and now that the heir had been found, the bank could start collecting interest payments again.

"I'll show you around the property on Friday, if that's all right. You'll find that it has been professionally maintained every few years or so. Still furnished, of course. We have spells to keep these kinds of things from getting old."

"Yes, thank you. It comes as quite a surprise for me," said Hermione. If only she had done this earlier, before Voldemort took over the Ministry. It would have made all the hiding from the Muggleborn Registration Commission completely unnecessary. Of course, there was still the bounty on her head, but it would have knocked off a few galleons. Then a thought occurred to her. "Do adopted children get an inheritance?"

Nagrod said, "The Ministry recognizes it, though we don't. You'll need to perform a blood binding ritual. We do those at Gringotts for a fee of 25 galleons."

"I can just bring my kid here any time, right?"

"You should get the paperwork done at the Ministry first. We've got nothing against it, it's Wizarding procedure," Nagrod apologized. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you for everything."

"Thank you for the business. I'm very excited to continue working with you." They shook.


	7. Hermione Gets a Job

"How would you like a teaching job at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore asked her. Hermione looked up from her book. "Well, I do need a job," she stated warily. "In which subject?"

"You'll like this one. Arithmancy."

"How did you know that was my favorite subject at school?" Hermione accused him, but she was pleased.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore twinkled, "because you're already hired. I convinced Armando- we haven't had a steady arithmancy professor in years."

"How'd you manage to do that without giving any of my credentials?" she asked.

Dumbledore shrugged. "I vouched for you," he said simply, and Hermione was struck by two things. One, shame at how easy it was to cheat to get ahead in the Wizarding world. And two, awe at the respect Dumbledore commanded, even from his own employer. This was before the pedestal that society placed him on for defeating Grindelwald in the Global Wizarding War. Hermione recognized an important ally when she saw one.


	8. Tom Marvolo Riddle

"I'm looking for a boy, around eight," Hermione inquired of the matron of Wool's Orphanage. It was chilly, with the low fireplace and the children peeking curiously around the doorway, all bundled up.

Mrs. Cole was a slim woman in her thirties with tired eyes and mousy hair that was greying prematurely. She nursed her tea while reviewing Hermione's Muggle papers, spread over her desk. It has been quite easy to go to the Ministry with the blood test results, and get both Wizarding and Muggle identification.

Nadia Cole said, "You live in Strathtay?"

"A few kilometers away, yes," Hermione said, wrapping her fingers around her cup in an effort to stay warm.

"You're young to be living alone," commented Mrs. Cole.

"I'm old enough," said Hermione.

Mrs. Cole put down her teacup and gazed at her. "I'm glad you're here, really. Times have been hard, and we're always happy to let the children go somewhere they'll be taken care of. I'm just worried, a little. A young, landowning single professor, in Scotland, with no family, looking to adopt a London boy in the middle of the worldwide depression? You've come a long way. It's unusual, to say the least."

Hermione nodded. "I completely understand, but I'm fully capable of taking care of him. He won't be different from the rest of my students, I daresay- I teach thirteen year-olds. We'll be staying at the school while it's in session, so he'll fit right in. He'll be home-schooled, and the educational resources at the school where I work are impeccable."

"I'm glad you're concerned about the child's education. We try our best with ours, but they've always struggled with critical thinking, among other things," Mrs. Cole confided. She nodded decisively. "I know just the boy. He's dreadfully intelligent, and I've been looking for someone who values it. Maybe he'll like you." She paused. "Would you like to meet him now?"

"Yes, please," said Hermione. The two women stood and made their way to the door. The children spying upon their meeting were younger than whom Hermione was looking for, and they trailed behind her as she followed Mrs. Cole down the poorly-lit hallway. "We divide the children by age group," Mrs. Cole explained. "Usually, they follow a tight schedule throughout the day, but we have been short on staff, so the children have been spending time to themselves."

"How many children are here?" asked Hermione.

"To be truthful, I don't know. There are, I believe, 47 permanent lodgers. We're the only orphanage in the area, and these times, parents would drop them off here to be picked up a while later. Gives them a safe place to stay while the parents look for employment. Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they stopped at a room with beds lined by the wall, a low table near the windows, and children scattered around, but close to a fireplace.

Eight year-old Tom Riddle was seated on his bed, with stockinged feet under a blanket and wrapped in a grey coat. He was reading a book. "That's him, but you noticed that," said Mrs. Cole shrewdly, having observed how Hermione found the boy instantaneously. Tom Riddle, feeling the prick of Hermione's stare, raised his ice-blue gaze to meet her brown one. They both felt a twinge of something inexplicable.

"Tom, come here," said Mrs. Cole, as the other children glanced at them curiously. Obediently, the future Dark Lord put down his book and trotted over to where they were standing. "This is Tom Riddle. He's been with us for… he was born here. A rarity, but not unheard of," the matron introduced.

"It's nice to meet you," said Tom politely. "What is your name?"

"I'm Hermione Dagworth-Granger," Hermione replied. She repressed a sense of revulsion as she firmly shook his small hand. This was an eight year-old boy, who looked nothing like the monster whom she had been fighting for so long. He was skinny with dark hair not unlike Harry's, only much neater.

Mrs. Cole pursed her lips. "Tom, Miss Dagworth-Granger is a high school teacher. She's looking to adopt, and I think you two would get along. Why don't you show her the library?"

Tom nodded. "Yes ma'am," he said, and went back to his bed to pull on a pair of loafers. Ms. Cole excused herself to get more firewood for the chilly room.

Tom approached her cautiously, book tucked under his arm. "We don't have much of a library," he said, staring up at her. "But I guess I could show it to you." He started out the hallway, and glanced over his shoulder to see if she was following.

They walked awkwardly along. Hermione asked, "What book are you reading?"

 _Great Expectations_. Charles Dickens. Ironic. She nodded. "I've read that too. Where are you at?"

"The part where Pip meets the Aged," said the boy. "I've read the book thrice already," he added.

"Oh? Who's your favorite character?"

"Magwitch," said Tom.

"I like him too, but I actually like Biddy better. Pip should have married her all along."

"Yeah," he agreed as they climbed a set of stairs.

"He didn't make the best decisions, did he?" prompted Hermione.

"Pip was stupid, and wasted a lot of his life," declared Tom.

"That's true," agreed Hermione. "But he learned a lot in the end, didn't he? Isn't that the moral of the story?"

"I guess," Tom conceded. "But if he were just smarter, he wouldn't have had to suffer that much."

The orphanage library was cold, like the rest of the building, and even more so without a fireplace. Low shelves lined the walls, and a pair of stiff curtains framed a ledged window.

Tom sneaked a glance at the woman beside him, currently taking a cursory shuffle through the fiction shelf. Someone so young to adopt was an odd sight at Wool's, especially in the midst of what he knew to be the biggest economic downturn in history. He wondered what Miss Dagworth-Granger had wanted, to make Mrs. Cole think of him specifically- there were plenty of boys who needed a better education. He wondered what Mrs. Cole had already told her about him. He wondered whether she would really get him out of this place, for real. He wondered what that jolt of _something_ he felt when he first looked into her eyes was.

There was only one way to tell.


	9. The Legilimency Attack

Hermione turned around, bemusedly starting to ask why copies of the Bible and accompanying children's handbooks for the Christian theology were shelved under nonfiction, when she felt the force of Legilimency attempt to penetrate her mind. By instinct, her Occlumency shields snapped up, and she stared at the boy who had locked eyes with her.

Tom took a step back in surprise and fear. "Y-you…" He could not finish the sentence. His gift, for reading people's minds, had never been blocked before.

Hermione smiled wryly, and with a flick of her hand, the library door closed itself, leaving them alone in the cold room. "That was an impressive feat of magic you did there," she told him.

He trembled, but his voice became steady. "You have it too, then."

"Yes," she said.

"What do you want with me?"

"Well," she said mildly, "For starters, I'd like to adopt you. If you want."

Hope that he had suppressed over the years bloomed in his heart. He slowly drew in a breath. He needed to remain steady. "Where are we going?" He questioned.

"My workplace and place of residence, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You'll be home-schooled, probably a better option than what Mrs. Cole can manage for you. You aren't legally able to use a wand until age eleven; however, we can practice wandless magic like what you have demonstrated just now."

Tom realized he probably shouldn't have done it. "Sorry," he said. "I just wanted to know."

Hermione drew her lips into a tight line. "Do you do it often?"

"Only when I think someone's hiding something," said Tom defensively.

She sucked in a deep breath, the air chilling her lungs. She needed to tread carefully. "Tom, I will truthfully answer any questions you have for me."

"Okay," he said. Then he hesitated, and decided to test the waters. "What was that feeling of- I can't really describe it. When I first saw you. You felt it too, right?"

"My best guess is you were probably reacting to my magic. Some wizards have that special attuned feeling, and also since you've been living with Muggles- non-magical people, you know- it came as a surprise for you."

"Okay," he said again. Then he shivered.

"Here, let's get out of this cold," said Hermione, crossing the room and turning the icy doorknob. "And Tom?"

"Yes, Miss Dagworth-Granger?" he replied, remembering his manners.

"Hermione, please," she corrected.

"Hermione."

"Consider this to be your first lesson in magic: The pure and unabashed truth can only be revealed with a foundation of trust, not by force. That is no means to an end."


	10. Nadia Cole Smells a Witch

"You're getting along well with him," remarked Nadia Cole as they sat together at lunch. The orphanage cafeteria was clean, but the children in it were notably quieter than Hogwarts.

"He reminds me of myself when I was his age," Hermione admitted. "Very curious."

Mrs. Cole was silent for a moment, grey eyes cast low at her plate. Then they flicked back up at Hermione. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

Hermione choked in surprise. "What? What do you mean?"

Mrs. Cole lowered her voice. "I saw the credentials for that school you work for. You can't possibly expect me not to know- I've been working here practically since I was born. Many children come under our roof."

"You know about Tom too, then," said Hermione. This was an interesting development.

"Yes, that much was obvious since his birth. I was there then, and when his mother passed away too, and she was probably one of them- you- judging from her behavior."

"How much can you tell me about him?"

"He's not under my direct supervision, but from what I've observed, he's cautious. He uses his- power- deliberatively, so it's hard to see evidence of it."

Hermione grew concerned. "Does he know you know?"

"I don't think so," said Mrs. Cole. "I've tried to keep my distance from him, actually."

"Why?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

Mrs. Cole thought about it. "You know he's very intelligent," she said. "But it used to be- the caretaker for his group told me- if she asked them a question or something, he would just know the answer. Like he was reading her mind. That stopped a year or so ago, but it's always bothered me, especially since I know about- his type and his mother and all. I just didn't think it would be advisable. None of the other- _different_ children did it."

Hermione was silent. "I suppose that was sensible of you," she finally said.

Mrs. Cole then asked, "But the biggest question is, what's your relation to him? The school only starts enrolling students at age eleven, right? There's never actually been an adoption for them either."

"Would you believe me if I said I was lonely and wanted company?"

The matron snorted. "A young thing like you? Hardly."

"Then," said Hermione, "I can only say that it's because I believe something is special about Tom. I've come a long way to find him."

"He will ask you that question himself," Mrs. Cole warned.

"When the time comes, I will answer him," said Hermione.

Mrs. Cole didn't press it. "Take good care of him," she told her. "Power like that, over others, must be a dangerous tool to be wielded by young children."


	11. Tom's Great Expectations

Hermione had obtained permission from Mrs. Cole to take Tom out for Christmas shopping for the day. And that meant, of course, Diagon Alley. Tom had already witnessed some discreet magic Hermione had shown him, but he was still really excited to see the Wizarding World for the first time.

As soon as they had walked out of sight of the orphanage, they Apparated directly to the Leaky Cauldron. Tom, of course, was delighted, but he tugged on her robes as they stepped out of the brick archway into the bustling crowd, looking, for all they knew, like a mother and son on a shopping trip- not a time traveler and a Dark Lord.

Hermione was waiting for the adoption to be finalized with the Muggle authorities. Tom had expressed excitement at leaving the orphanage. Although Mrs. Cole and the other caretakers had some their best to raise the children, it was still no place for them to grow up, without that affection or even education that so impacted young people from an early age.

"What's living in an orphanage like?" Hermione asked Tom casually as they were examining shelves of magical candy at Sugarplum's Sweets Shop. Hermione had decided to bring some to share with the Muggle children at Wool's.

Tom shook a packet of Toad Jellies, watching in fascination as the charmed candy scrambled and squirmed in the clear packaging. "It's not as depressing as the books make it out to be," he replied. "Especially Dickens' portrayal of orphan life, if you're thinking about _Oliver Twist_. I imagine there's a feeling of… being unwanted that comes into it. Of being a burden. You get used to it, though." He tilted his head at her. "I don't think I'm the best person to ask about this kind of thing, but on average, that's pretty much how everybody feels."

"How do you feel?" asked Hermione, wanting to know.

"For me, there's always been a sense of, you know, I'm special and I will get out of there because I had magic." He dipped his head and shrugged. "I've always dreamed of going out into the world like Pip and using my magic to rise higher in society than everybody else from Wool's. I could start at a shop, work my way up until I become wealthy and affluent like Miss Havisham." He grinned.

"Yeah?" Hermione was listening.

"And then you came and told me there was this whole world of magic where people do magic their whole lives and everyone got an education whether they liked it or not and got to have important jobs opening their own businesses and riding broomsticks and running the country. And that was a good thing because now you're adopting me and I have even better prospects than I started out with. So yeah, I'm pretty happy to get out of the place. Who wouldn't, hmm?" He had moved on to the candied broomsticks.

"Okay," Hermione laughed. She lifted a few large boxes of Cheering Chews for Tom's fellow orphans and followed Tom to the clerk to pay.


	12. Dumbledore Gets a Pair of Socks

"You did that much lesson planning in a week?" Dumbledore asked Hermione, staring incredulously at the pile of paper on the desk of her new office.

"A lot of it is research I need for my classes," said Hermione.

Dumbledore waited.

"What?"

"Merry Christmas, Hermione!" he said cheerily. He pulled from under his desk a box of lemon drops tied with a purple ribbon. Hermione groaned.

"I actually got something for you," she said.

Dumbledore stared. "A pair of socks?"

"Yeah, why not?"

They exchanged the gifts. There was a pause.

"Who are those boxes of candy for?" Dumbledore asked, a little enviously.

"For the children at the orphanage," glared Hermione, "and they're not sharing!"

"Oh," said Dumbledore. "So why do you want a kid again?"

"It's important," she insisted. "He's a wonderful eight year-old, named Tom. A wizard, so he's going to Hogwarts. He has a brilliant mind."

"You don't get many of those nowadays," Dumbledore agreed. "I suppose he'll be living here with the rest of us too?"

"Yes," said Hermione, "He'll be no trouble at all. I'm still trying to get the house done, so Hogwarts is where we'll be until summer break."


	13. Tom is Adopted

On his 9th birthday, Tom Marvolo Dagworth-Granger officially came to be recognized as part of the Dagworth-Granger line by Muggle and Wizarding authorities alike. Both Hermione and Tom felt a sense of freedom as they walked down the steps of Gringotts Bank, palms stinging from the blood-bonding ritual.

At the orphanage, Nadia Cole bent down to shake Tom's hand. "I'm glad to see you go," the not-quite-middle-aged caretaker deadpanned, and Tom cracked a smile. Hermione drew Mrs. Cole aside.

"Thanks for everything," she said.

"Don't thank me yet," said Mrs. Cole grimly. "You'll find motherhood brings the most challenges you will ever face. You'll be cursing my name soon."

"I'll throw myself into the task like the fate of this world rested on Tom's good breeding," swore Hermione. It was true. "I'd like you to take this…" she began.

Mrs. Cole waved away the envelope. "We don't charge for adoption. You're free to go."

"Please, you're a private organization. Not subsidized. You need all the donations you can get. It'll help with the heating bill this winter. You have my address on file too, so write. Anytime you need something- well, just say you have a friend with a bit of magic."

Mrs. Cole smiled. "Bless your heart," she said. She turned to Tom, waiting to go. "Take this," she said, presenting him with a copy of the Bible. "I understand it has… a negative viewpoint on your folk, but the Lord has blessed you with something the rest of us don't have. There's a reason for that."

Amidst the falling snow, Tom paused, holding Hermione's hand. They turned around and saw their two sets of footprints slowly vanishing behind them, and Wool's Orphanage, blurred through the soft white. There was a crack, and mother and son vanished too.


	14. Isaac Newton's Problem

Tom ambled into Hermione's study the Sunday afternoon before school started. He propped himself on his elbows and looked curiously at the shining numbers floating above the parchment. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to a shape that looked vaguely like a seashell.

"That's the golden spiral," she told him bemusedly.

Tom blinked, then said, "I mean, Hermione, I know you teach Arithmancy, and that has to do with maths, and I was wondering if, you know, if you had the time to teach me something like that too…"

"How about this," said Hermione. "Since you're not going to elementary school, I'll teach you some basic maths, and we can get you books on all kinds of subjects, all right?"

Tom grinned excitedly. "Okay."

"You know the basic binary operations, right? Addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division?"

Tom nodded. Hermione remembered the first fascinating thing she had learned in maths.

"Here's an interesting problem." She reached over for a new piece of parchment, and wrote:

1+2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9+...+97+98+99+100

"The ellipsis here signifies that the sequence of positive integers goes on, all the way to 100- but writing all of them would take too much time."

Tom stared. "That's a lot of numbers to add."

"Yes, one hundred numbers, to be exact. Let me tell you a story about this problem. I first heard it from my fourth-grade teacher, and I don't know if it's true." She shrugged embarrassedly, then continued. "You know Isaac Newton, right?"

"The famous physicist, who wrote _The Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy_. The _Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica_ , often shortened to just the _Principia_. Right?" Tom smirked.

Hermione laughed. "Well, you do know your books."

"I've never read it. I was afraid to," Tom grinned.

"Well, the story goes like this. When Isaac Newton was little… maybe around your age, he was at school. His teacher had some grading to do, or just didn't feel like teaching that day, or something. So she gave this problem to her class." She tapped the numerical expression with her finger. "She figured, that huge problem, right, would take that class at least an hour to do. But little Isaac Newton had the correct answer in two minutes."

Tom was astonished. "How?"

"You see, Tom, he figured out a way to do it, much cleverly than just adding each number up. He found a way _around_ the problem, instead of going at it head-on. Here." She handed him the parchment and a quill. "I'll give you five minutes to figure out the correct answer. That's three more minutes than Isaac Newton took!"

Tom was a little anxious. "Umm…"

"Don't worry, this is a pretty hard problem to start out with. I didn't get it until my teacher told me. But you're the smartest kid I've ever met."

"Thanks," said Tom, genuinely pleased.

"OK. Now go!"

* * *

 **A/N: T** **he answer is quite simple. If you imagine, in your mind, writing out all the numbers in a row: 1+2+3+...+99+100, then adding the first and the last numbers (1 and 100), the second and second-to-last numbers (2 and 99), the third and third-to-last (3 and 98), you will see that there is a pattern. All the number pairs add up to 101. There are 100 numbers, thus there are 50 pairs. 50 times 101 is 5050, so the sum of the first 100 positive integers is 5050.**


	15. Hermione Starts Teaching

The casual observer would not have noticed that Hogwarts' mysterious new Arithmancy teacher was nervous. Her nine year-old son, however, definitely was, now that he was surrounded by a sea of older students. Still, inside, he was wonderstruck by how the old castle came almost alive with the spirits that filled its corridors. Around every corner were people who towered over him in stature, knowledge, and magical skill. From conversation he caught, Tom learned more of the Wizarding World than ever before.

The rumors, of course, began circulating immediately. The Arithmancy professor seemed only a few years over seventh year herself. There was no way she could have had a child in second or third year, right? Besides, they don't even look alike. Still, when Dumbledore announced her name, the purebloods looked to her with something like acceptance- an attitude Hermione had not previously been recipient of.

Hermione was particularly eager to gauge her students' proficiency in maths. Since there was no Wizarding primary school, most children were homeschooled before Hogwarts age. And rare indeed were the parents who deemed arithmetic an important enough subject to teach to a young wizard or witch. Unlike the Muggle economic system, there were very few jobs to be had in the Wizarding world that placed a great emphasis on higher-level calculation. Since hers was an elective class, however, Hermione hoped to be spared from the brunt of the unenthusiastic… Ah, dunderheads. None of them would willingly take a class they expected to fail, after all.

Tom, Hermione realized with a little disappointment, did not possess talent in Arithmancy. He had plenty of determination, yes, but unlike Hermione, his mind was organized in a way that numbers simply did not _click_ with him. This did not stop him from perusing additional information on the solutions, but when it came to hard, cold problem-solving, he was hopeless in a way that reminded Hermione of Neville Longbottom. Still, a nine year-old cannot be expected to make great advances in Arithmancy, a third year course, on his first day. Even one as brilliant as Tom Marvolo Dagworth-Granger.


	16. The NSC Meeting at MACUSA

_-Flashback-_

" _All the evidence points to one action. War," said Emily Guillermo, MACUSA's Secretary of State, gravely. "We need to persuade Congress to declare war." The leaders of the Executive Branch sat around a rectangular table, in an emergency National Security Council meeting. Papers were scattered all around, evidence of the Ministry and Death Eaters' wrongdoing in the open: The destruction of Hogwarts, of Muggleborn imprisonment, records of disappearances, genocide._

" _Martin Ventura's latest report from the embassy mentioned nothing wrong," argued Ed Anderson, the Secretary of Defense. He was a thin man with a ruddy complexion._

 _Emily shook her head. "I'm telling you, Ventura has probably been compromised already. Imperiused, maybe. Each letter had been growing more disturbing, until that last one assuring me everything was fine. Well, everything's not fine. Ventura hasn't explained why Scrimgeour was suddenly replaced, and Hermione assures me it's worse than we suspected. It turns out, he was assassinated!"_

" _Granger is a private, foreign citizen leading a shadowy organization of which we know nothing of. I'm not even sure if she should be here!" declared Anderson, indicating Hermione who had been quietly observing the meeting from outside the circle._

" _Please, settle down, everyone," said President Leonard Burns. He stared at Hermione over his glasses, bushy eyebrows raised. "Miss Granger, you and Emily are proposing something deadly serious. Ed's right. We cannot take actions that would endanger our nation."_

 _Hermione held the president's gaze. "I understand, President Burns," she said in her lilting British accent. "A leader must look out for his country's best interests. But I'm here to tell you what I do know." She took a deep breath, and stood up. "Voldemort is a madman. Not only a madman, but an ambitious, intelligent madman following in Gellert Grindelwald's footsteps and surpassing him to become the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time."_

 _She paused, the room silent, and smiled bitterly. "We all like to think we're upright, moral people. Able to stand up to wrongdoing and injustice. But each of us know, in our hearts, that's not necessarily the case. I'm sure all of you remember the Global Wizarding War. Britain was the only European country left unscathed by Grindelwald's fanatics, because we had Albus Dumbledore on our side. Now, he's gone, and the entire Ministry will do whatever their master bids. The result will be oppression, subjugation, and mass destruction._

" _Voldemort will not stop until every wizard, witch, and magical being bends to his ideology. Our former Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, suffered the consequences of inaction. For the safety of your citizens, the international magical community, the Muggle world as an extension, and even the preservation of free democracy- I, and the rest of Wizarding Britain, plead for any help that you can extend. I understand that our respective nations have not worked as closely as the situation calls. Wizards keep to their own. But perhaps we can start cooperation again, like we briefly had in the Global War, and keep it that way, to ensure peace despite our differences."_

" _That's fine and everything, Miss Granger," said Anderson skeptically. "But remember, you do not speak for magical Britain. I cannot reiterate this enough: you are a private citizen. No one voted for you."_

" _I disagree with that, Mr. Anderson," replied Hermione. "Democracy is dead. Britain stands divided, one side for good, one for evil. As the leader of the largest resistance operation to the current regime, I represent the people of Britain against Voldemort."_

" _Even then," said Vice President Yvonne Bentham, "the Ministry has done nothing aggressive against other countries. It's broken no international law. We can't do anything unless they provoke us."_

" _We can at least grant political asylum to refugees," Emily pointed out after a heavy silence. "Loan out supplies, give them a safe spot. What about Aurors?"_

 _President Burns nodded. "That'll be up to you and Howard to decide."_

 _Howard Hastings, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who had been quiet thus far, empathetically said, "I can't spare Aurors to go fight overseas. You'd just have to do your own recruiting and training."_

 _Emily exchanged a glance with Hermione. "If we can set up some kind of volunteer system," Emily began, "like the No-Maj Peace Corps… to help out in the rebellion."_

" _If you think that'll be successful," said President Burns. "Go for it. We can't just have all-out war. Miss Granger, we will get you your aid, but we cannot destroy the pretense of peaceful relations."_

" _That'll cost too much on our side," said Bentham. "Please understand this."_

" _Perfectly," Hermione said._


	17. Third-Year Arithmancy

The third year class was comprised of around twenty students- mostly Ravenclaw and Slytherin, with a handful of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Classroom 7A had been drastically changed. Instead of desks, there were four rectangular tables that could seat eight. The walls were a shade of light blue, with curtains opened wide to a view of the snow-covered forest and the Scottish mountains beyond. Tom sat with his legs tucked under him behind the large desk at the front of the room, silently observing the students.

"Welcome to Arithmancy." Hermione stood at the front of the classroom. "My name is Hermione Dagworth-Granger, and I am going to be your, hopefully, permanent Arithmancy professor. I understand that your substitute teacher had you read through _Numerology and Grammatica_ for the first few months of the school year. Our class will use this book, and I have a list of some other textbooks that I'd like you to buy. We will also be taking a field trip at the year, to a selected, arithmancically important site…"

There was a surprised murmur. Hogwarts professors typically did not arrange field trips.

"I thought it would be interesting for you to see how arithmancy applies to things outside of school. You'd have to get a signed permission slip from a parent or guardian, of course. And… Oh, yes. There will be a project due at the end of the year which will make up 40% of your grade. More about that later. Before we start the lesson, are there any questions?"

A Slytherin girl raised her hand. "Is that your son?"

"Yes. Say hello, Tom."

Surprised, Tom gave the class a little wave.

"All right, let's begin. Take notes," Hermione said, turning to the chalkboard behind her. "The Pythagorean Theorem is often called geometry's most elegant theorem. It is central to many geometrical problems found in arithmancy. I believe it was mentioned in _Numerology and Grammatica_ , but it didn't go into much detail. What is the Pythagorean Theorem?"

Almost everyone raised their hands. " _A_ squared plus _B_ squared equals _C_ squared," answered a Hufflepuff boy.

Hermione smiled. "It might seem that way, doesn't it? But that statement is altogether not what arithmancers or mathematicians would say. Clearly stated, the Pythagorean Theorem is the theorem that the sums of the squares of the measures of the two legs of a right triangle is equivalent to the square of the measure of the hypotenuse." She labeled _a_ , _b_ , and _c_ on a right triangle in white chalk, and wrote the equation beside it. "From now on, I'll expect you to express theorems in this fashion, demonstrating a more complete understanding of what it means; you will apply them in conventional form. This theorem is named for the ancient Greek arithmancer and philosopher, Pythagoras, although it long predates him. Rather, it was named after him because Pythagoras was the first documented wizard to prove it."

A Ravenclaw raised her hand, busily scribbling. "When was this?"

"The sixth century BC. Pythagoras believed that numbers made up the universe and were the driving force behind it. This is what we, as arithmancers, try to study. Numbers are linked to our past, present, and future. There is a wrong conception that arithmancy is a form of number divination. That is only a part of what we are going to cover this year, although _Numerology and Grammatica_ does a very good job of explaining how arithmancy applies to future events. But as Pythagoras said, "All is number". This year, you will learn to use arithmancy to find the innermost workings of magic itself, understanding not only _how_ it works, but _why_. What does this mean? Most of what arithmancers do is to deconstruct magic into variables and formulas, the better to understand it. Any form of magic, simple or complex, can be written in what is called arithmancical form. It would be easier to understand if I gave you a little demonstration…"

Hermione turned to the board. With her chalk, she started to write a simple arithmancical formula. "The Heating Charm, I'm sure all of you learned in first year, is one of the most basic forms of magic. It converts magical energy into heat."

The formula now on the blackboard looked, to Tom, illegible- not like maths at all. For one thing, there were no actual numbers, only- only variables and squiggly symbols.

"Most spells have three components, as Professor Callaway must have taught you in Transfiguration. The motion and incantation both fall under what arithmancers call intent, symbolized as _phi_ , here." She indicated a symbol in the equation: ϕ

"We'll get into how to derive this later. There's also force, F here, and direction or objective, _alpha_ …" The alpha symbol looked like: α

"If you replace these with values… be very careful…" Hermione wrote the formula again, with numbers- " _Concarno!_ " she cried, and the chalk writing blazed to life in golden lettering, floating a few inches above the surface of the board. "You can now adjust the values by pointing your wand. _Alpha_ is typically a set of coordinates in three dimensions. And now… _aliqua proponamus_!"

With a flash, the golden equation disappeared. The class sat, confused, for a second, and then- Tom gasped along with them, for the glass of water on Hermione's desk, previously room temperature, was now steaming.

"Of course, it's much more practical to just cast the Heating Charm than to write an equation for it. But you'll learn in Arithmancy there's many ways of doing things." She paused. "Don't worry, I won't make you learn how to do that. I don't think I was supposed to show you until 6th year. For this class, we'll focus on _Numerology and Grammatica_."

A pile of parchment was on her desk, which she now passed out to the class. "This is the syllabus. Read it by next session so you know what we're going to do."

A Ravenclaw raised his hand. "What's the blank piece of parchment for?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "Go ahead and fold that into a triangular prism, and write your first and last name on both faces so I learn your names faster. It'll be your desk label. You can place it on your desk at the start of each class."

Once everyone had properly labeled themselves, Hermione continued. "Now, I want to give you a quiz…"

The class groaned.

"Yes, well, don't worry. Just to gauge how much you already know, what your style of problem solving is." She passed out the quiz. "Just ten quick questions. A few problems, a few theory. Don't have to answer all of them. You have, let's say… 30 minutes should be enough."

Tom didn't think Hermione's students were too happy when they started in on the exam. Many of them wore expressions of resignation. Still, they were fascinating to watch. The Ravenclaws worked through each question slowly and methodically. The Hufflepuffs, the few that were there, tended to skip around. The Slytherins and Gryffindors put a solution down for every single question. There really _were_ differences in how their minds worked, Tom thought, having read _Hogwarts: A History_.

At the end of 30 minutes, the class passed in their papers. Hermione placed them on her desk. "I think I'd like to do this… maybe once a week. On Thursdays. Maybe for a grade, but we'll see how it goes, hmm? Still, no one likes grading a ton of paper," she mused out loud. "I did promise to tell you about your Arithmancy project. We'll have class time to work on it… Fridays, I think. It goes like this: since we'll be working on probability, you can choose a hypothetical event, and analyze the probability it might happen. _Numerology and Grammatica_ goes into all that, and we will cover it in class too. You will present this in front of your classmates, and will also turn in a written paper explaining your procedure. I would like a project proposal written, due next week. Tell me why you chose this event and at least five questions that you might ask for your project, plus a list of at least three resources you would like to use. No two students can analyze the same event, so communicate with your classmates about who's doing what. That will be your homework for this session." She wrote it down on the blackboard. "Any questions?"

A Gryffindor raised his hand. "Where are we going for our field trip?"

"I have a few places in mind, if the Headmaster approves. I don't know for sure. Anyone else?" There was no one. "Make sure you get the materials listed in the syllabus by next week. Class dismissed, then."

The students filed out of the room slowly. A blonde Slytherin boy walked up to Hermione's desk, with his notebook.

"Professor Dagworth-Granger? I have a few questions about your lecture just now."

Hermione smiled. "Sure, Mr.?"

"Malfoy, ma'am. Julius Malfoy."

"Go for it."

Tom could see the thirteen year-old's messy handwriting all over the page. "Okay. First off, how is arithmancical form used practically?"

"Actually, arithmancical form is most commonly used in spell _creation_ , not execution. Change the function a little and you could come up with an entirely new spell. We won't get to this until later, though. Excellent question."

"Also," said the blonde relentlessly, reading off his list. "You said coordinates for _alpha_ were in the third dimension, and the spell you did to enact that formula- what was it-"

"Aliqua proponamus," Hermione supplied. "The embodiment spell."

"- yeah," said Julius. "After you did that, well, it's on a coordinate plane, right? What I'm trying to say is, how come _alpha_ described the position of that glass of water."

"Very good," said Hermione. "The water was quite deliberately placed before the start of class. Convention assigned to the Aliqua spell meant the point of my wand was the origin, which is parallel to the magical field of the earth in this location. From here, I could figure out the coordinates for _alpha_ before the start of class. Understand?"

"Erm, mostly," said Julius, scribbling. "Also, if you can adjust the values to anything, can you technically use infinite force?"

"Actually, no. Convention also assigns the origin of the magical energy to the caster. They have a finite amount of magical energy which if exceeded, could drain the caster. Not safe, so you always set a limit."

"Thank you, Professor," Julius said. "Have a good day!"

"You too," said Hermione. He gathered his bag and followed his classmates.

"Hrm, a Malfoy," said Hermione. She perched on the desk. "Interesting lot. I know a few of them."

"He was nice," said Tom. "Really curious about what you said. I don't know if it was genuine or just trying to gain your favor."

"Don't be so pessimistic," said Hermione.


	18. Hermione Talks to Dumbledore

Hermione had tea with Dumbledore in his office. "It's nice of you to drop by," said Dumbledore.

"I figured, I couldn't spend all my spare time doing research," she replied. "Gotta get out there. Make friends."

"That's the spirit," Dumbledore agreed. There was a long silence.

"What was broken in your time that needed so much fixing?" asked Dumbledore abruptly.

"What?"

"You told me you won the war. You defeated the enemy, and finally had a safe world. Why not go on with your life?"

"Why are you asking me this?" asked Hermione cautiously.

He shrugged. "It doesn't add up."

Hermione put down her teacup. "What doesn't add up? There was no Hogwarts, no Ministry. Everyone was either dead, went to live in a different country, or was isolated, themselves and their family barricading themselves in their house." She was growing increasingly agitated. "We had our hands full being the vigilante crime-busters in the wake of the collapse of the government. Eventually people cleared out of the country for good. I had to do _something_."

Dumbledore appraised Hermione, expressionless. She leaned back, ran a hand through her hair and said, "So, no. We didn't win the war. Nobody did."

"Why take it upon yourself to right all of wizardkind's wrongs?" Dumbledore finally inquired.

"I don't know. I just couldn't stand it," said Hermione. "I couldn't move forward." She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "Sometimes I wonder… if it was all worth it. Coming back here."

"I'm sure it is. You must have saved a thousand lives, avoiding that war. You're in control of the Wizarding World now, because you know what will happen. You know the future," reassured Dumbledore. His tone grew grave. "But what I'm worried about is, you chose the past because you had that control. If you'll forgive me for saying, it sounds like you were afraid to move toward the future and the unknown, which you have no control over. That- I mean you no offense- obsession with power and control over your fate and that of others is the first step to becoming a Dark Wizard."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort something in her own defense, against Dumbledore's preposterous accusation. But her jaw snapped shut as the memory of her American comrades-in-arms crossed her mind. As a direct result of her act, Tim and Dorothea's baby would never be born, for certain. She didn't know what else she may have caused from the prevention of the war.

She wondered if her time travel was for entirely selfish reasons. Because one stubborn witch couldn't deal with the fact that there had been a war, and her friends had perished… everyone had to suffer the consequences.

Dumbledore spoke, interrupting her thoughts. "Destiny is a curious thing. You cannot stop it from taking its course. But you can choose to accept it or not."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

Dumbledore merely shrugged. "My point is," he said, "if you really wanted to simply do the most good, you could have not given up. You could have kept on fighting. Not that your amount of good-doing decreased any, however," he added quickly. "There's no nobler purpose than preventing a war."

"But I took the cowardly option instead, you're saying," said Hermione, a little angry but knowing it was true.

Dumbledore shrugged again, changing the subject. "Did you tell me you were in Gryffindor House?" he asked.

"Yes," said Hermione resignedly.

"Don't be upset. You just need to keep moving forward, that's all."

"Yeah," Hermione said.

There was an awkward silence as Hermione watched the ripples in her cooling tea.

"So, how's your son?" prompted Dumbledore.

She looked up. "Oh, Tom's fine. He's a bit lonely, now that class has started. I'm making him write essays on what he learns everyday. He's read many books from the library. There's not many people he can play with."

"I think Marianne- the Transfiguration teacher- has two children at home," said Dumbledore. "Her husband's French, did you know? Perhaps you can arrange a weekend with her family or something."

"It's tough, taking care of a family and teaching at the same time," Hermione admitted. "I understand why most professors are unmarried."

"Yes, it makes it easier," said Dumbledore. "More tea?"

"No, thank you," said Hermione. "I should be getting on. We should do this again sometime. Maybe in my office…"


	19. Filomatheia Lovegood

Tom spent most of his time in the library. He quickly became a familiar sight, and the students' behaviors were certainly more well-mannered in the presence of the Arithmancy professor's young son. He didn't try to talk to the students there, at first, focusing on research for his daily essay on the Wizarding World. His favorite section so far was the section on dragons, but that did not completely alleviate Tom's never-ending disappointment at the wizarding world's miserable lack of fictitious literature. Wizards practically _lived_ in a fantasy world of magic! There were so many amazing things that could possibly be written. There was no excuse, in Tom's mind, for this deficiency. It was either that magic stunted creativity, or that Hogwarts' library was not as extensive as he originally thought.

Thea Lovegood, a Ravenclaw, came to the library often, and never with her homework, like the others. Rather, she would read. Tom remembered their first conversation. Hermione was having classes, and although she welcomed his presence, the Arithmancy she taught was strange and confusing to Tom. Also, her classroom was too cold. Hermione insisted that a temperature of precisely 21 degrees was conducive to a focused environment.

He had noticed her book first. It was _sparkling_. Cautiously, he slipped over to her. She was sitting with her legs crossed. On the floor. Under a table.

"Hello," he said carefully, crouching down. "You're from fourth-year Arithmancy." The blonde girl looked up slowly, not surprised at all.

"Hello. Can you, if you please, thank your mother for me? She's the one professor who will write passes to the restricted section without suspicion." She showed him the cover of her book, on faerie magic.

"Okay," said Tom, blinking. "Why are you sitting under a table?"

"I'm hiding," she said matter-of-factly.

"From who?" he inquired, slightly shocked.

"From the monsters," replied the girl serenely. "I'm Filomatheia Lovegood. You can call me Thea."

"I'm Tom Marvolo Dagworth-Granger. What monsters?"

Thea glanced around the library, with narrowed eyes to see if anyone was watching. From his vantage point, all Tom could see were the underside of the library tables- covered in chewing gum over the years- furniture legs, and shoes of the students studying in a corner. She dog-eared her page- Tom stifled a gasp at the sacrilege- put her book aside, and drew Tom closer. "They're huge," she told him. "Great, hulking shadowy beasts, coming after unsuspecting children. Afraid of two things only."

"What?" said Tom doubtfully.

"Bouncy balls, and chewing gum." She indicated solemnly at the canopy of dried-up wads of the substance, above them. "My only place of sanctuary." Then she grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. "Just kidding. You want a piece?" She offered Tom a stick of Muggle gum. Food was forbidden in the library.

"Thanks," he said, taking it. Not easily deterred, he added, "Why are you _really_ sitting under a table?"

"'Twas part of my devious, ingeniously complex plan to make you come talk to me," Thea said frankly. "Devious. Ingeniously complex," she repeated thoughtfully, looking to the gum-encrusted heavens for inspiration. Then she shook her head. "I believe the word _elaborate_ much better suited to my meaning."

"Sure," said Tom. "Why would you plan to make me talk to you?"

She stared at him. "I perceive a soul, desperately wanting, needing something that can't be found. A remnant of the world he lost. An artful fragment of his own self."

"What?" Tom asked.

"Come with me," Thea said in an intense whisper, with an air of excitement and mystery.

The two of them stole off, Thea leading Tom by the hand, him trying to keep up with her longer strides. They kept to the shadows- behind magical tapestries and suits of armor. They stopped beside the Arithmancy classroom on the seventh floor. Tom could hear Hermione's voice, lecturing to her sixth-year class.

"What…" he began, when Thea pulled him a bit further down the corridor and they stopped in front of a section of unadorned stone wall. Thea let go of his hand and started pacing.

"There's a secret library here," she said.

He was astonished when double doors materialized from the stone wall.

"Come on!" Tucking her sparkling book under her arm, she pushed the doors wide open.

There truly was a large library within, with thousands of books, and a fireplace, and soft armchairs.

"It's beautiful," he breathed. "How did you…"

"You just need to wish for it," she said.

After examining the shelves, he found that they were organized alphabetically by author's last name, and divided into fiction and nonfiction, just like the library back in the orphanage. The fiction books were mostly by Muggle authors. Tom quickly went to "D" and pulled out a lovely gilded copy of _Great Expectations_ , bound in maroon cloth with a silk bookmark. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. A hole in a nine year-old wizard's heart had been filled.

He looked around. Thea was bustling in the nonfiction section, having already put away her faerie book. "Thea?" he called to her. "Thank you."

She beamed, and asked rhetorically, "What are friends for?"


	20. Dorothea D'Andrea

_-Flashback-_

 _Hermione lay spread-eagled on her bed. She squeezed her eyes shut experimentally, but no tears came. She supposed she should be feeling grief, or something- but all she felt was tired, that same weary emotion that no amount of Invigoration Draught could drive from her bones._

 _There came a knock at the door. It was Dorothea D'Andrea, a spy for the Order. She came in, carrying a tray of tea and set it down on the bedside table. "Hermione," she said, forehead wrinkling a little. "How are you?"_

" _I'm fine," said Hermione. "Thanks."_

 _Dorothea pulled a chair over to the bed and lowered herself gracefully into it. Hermione considered sitting up, but she didn't. Dorothea started pouring the tea._

" _It's not fair," Hermione said suddenly._

 _Dorothea looked up. "What?"_

" _Luna Lovegood. She's younger than me. By a year."_

" _That's not much," Dorothea observed. "I'm twenty-six."_

" _Yes, but-"_

 _Dorothea interrupted, something she never did. "I don't think dying goes in chronological order," she said in a low voice. "And I don't think Death Eaters discriminate."_

 _Hermione sighed._

" _Were you close?" Dorothea prompted._

" _Not especially. She wasn't close to anyone, really. Maybe Ginny."_

" _Ginny Weasley?"_

" _Yeah."_

 _They were silent, Hermione staring up at the ceiling and Dorothea sipping her tea._

" _Why has it affected you so much?" Dorothea asked._

 _She hummed tunelessly. "She was just so… untouchable. Above all the grime and violence and hatred. She was sweet, of course, and endlessly loyal to- Harry. But you know, she was wise beyond her years. What's the word. Ethereal. Kind of like you-" She turned her head to look at Dorothea._

" _Yeah?" Dorothea said, meeting her gaze._

" _I guess… too many people already. It's just weighing down on me." Hermione considered Dorothea. "How do you feel about all this?"_

" _Me?" she said, and was quiet for a moment. "It's awful, of course. Vol- the Dark Lord acts more and more hypocritical each day. I can understand why most everyone has left the country- it's become a pureblood swamp."_

" _Yeah."_

" _I find myself wondering, sometimes, about his end goal. If he hates Muggles so much he's arresting blood traitors, why would he even want to take over the Muggle world? I'm convinced," Dorothea lowered her voice conspiratorially, "The poor man has snapped."_

" _We all knew that," said Hermione with a brief smile. "Especially with all the extra Horcruxes he's been making lately. What about all of us?"_

" _I'm not too close to anyone in the Order, if that's what you mean," Dorothea shrugged._

" _You're new," said Hermione, sitting up to pick up her tea, which had cooled somewhat on the tray. "How do you think about everyone?"_

" _I'm incredibly impressed by how normal you all are," confessed Dorothea. "I would have thought- Hermione Granger, the young lady with two hundred thousand galleons on her head-"_

" _Don't remind me," Hermione groaned jokingly, wrapping her hands around the cup._

" _Drinking tea like regular mortals… cooking, shoveling hippogriff dung…" They both laughed._

" _I've never had so many people over in my life," said Dorothea wonderingly, after a comfortable silence._

 _Hermione thought of saying, "That number's going down, fast," but decided it did not fit the occasion. Instead she asked, "How many safe houses left?"_

" _As headquarters? There's my menagerie, of course. I think Nicola's house is protected by the Fidelus, too. I don't think the Tonks house is safe at the moment… we're running out of places."_

" _What about taking a few places back?"_

 _Dorothea considered it. "The Burrow is being weakly defended," she said. "But I don't think it's worth it. It's a Floo hotspot."_

 _Hermione sighed. "I've been communicating with the United States Secretary of State. We might need to relocate."_

" _To America?" frowned Dorothea. "It's pretty far away. Might put a damper on our attack plans."_

" _Yes," said Hermione grimly. "But I'm thinking this may be more than we can handle. I'm thinking, we might need to… evacuate the citizens."_

" _Everyone." Dorothea took a deep breath._

" _Nothing's set in stone," said Hermione. She put down her finished tea. "What do you think?"_

" _I don't want to abandon Britain," said Dorothea._

" _We're not doing that," Hermione assured her. "If we go through with that, it'll be temporary. Just to keep everyone safe."_

" _Sure," she said. "I see your reasoning." She gathered up the tea things. "I need to check the greenhouse. Here," Dorothea dug around in her pocket, pulling out a vial. "Parvati told me you can't fall asleep without Dreamless Sleep."_

 _Hermione cracked a smile. "I may be addicted to it." She took the potion, uncapped it, and swallowed it all. She felt the effects immediately, and lay down._

 _Dorothea headed out. "Hey, Dorothea?" Hermione said, groggily. "Thank you."_

" _What are friends for?" she heard faintly, and drifted into much-needed rest._


	21. Septimus Weasley

Septimus Weasley didn't have a date.

Of course, he could show up without one, he supposed. It would be very, very embarrassing. He would be the only person with no guest. It wasn't _his_ fault he was brilliant at Arithmancy- so brilliant, in fact, that no one in Gryffindor wanted to talk to him, except to get the answers to the homework.

He wondered if he could break his arm or something, and not show up. But then Professor Dagworth-Granger would be terribly disappointed.

She'd asked him to talk to her after class, and after everyone left, he rather nervously walked to her desk. She smiled up at him, and said, "I'm sorry to ask this, Septimus, but do you know about the Slug Club- Professor Slughorn's, uh, organization?"

"Yes, Professor," he said a little confusedly.

Professor Dagworth-Granger explained sheepishly, "You see, he wanted me to joint-host the next gathering- it's kind of a big deal, the Spring Bash. Can you come Friday night, as one of my guests?"

"Oh. Um, sure, Professor. I'd be honored," said Septimus.

"Thank you," she said, looking greatly relieved. "You have real talent in Arithmancy, you know. I just need to find a couple more students…" she said half to herself. "Seven o'clock sharp, alright? You need dress robes. And also a guest? You can go to class now, Mr. Weasley."

He had stumbled out of the classroom, dazed.

Come seven, Septimus found himself in front Slughorn's office anyway. The sound of chatter and soft music was muffled through the door. Cracking it open, he furtively crept in. There was a press of people. Flowers and fairy-lamps adorned the walls; house-elves held up platters of things to eat. He looked around, planning to just greet Professor Dagworth-Granger and leave.

No such luck. "Septimus! Another one of Hermione's guests!" boomed Slughorn from across the room, who noticed him immediately. "Come over here, m'boy! Everyone, this is Septimus Weasley. Hermione's told me you had the makings of a great arithmancer, isn't that right?"

"Yes, thank you for coming, Septimus," Professor Dagworth-Granger said bemusedly, her nine year-old son looking rather pale, standing in her shadow. Septimus gave everyone staring at him a feeble wave, and backed up against a corner with a glass of pumpkin juice. It seemed Slughorn had invited some former Slug Club members, as well as some other, probably distinguished adults.

"Too bad you don't do as well in Potions, hmm?" continued Slughorn in a jovial tone. "Now, I simply _couldn't_ say that about _my_ best sixth-year student, Cedrella!"

Cedrella Black was the most beautiful girl in his year. She was highly respected, a daughter of one of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and a powerful witch- a prefect, presiding over the Hogwarts social circles. Cedrella gave Slughorn a smile, and continued her conversation with her date, the seventh-year who was captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team.

Septimus backed further into his corner, if it was at all possible, feeling awkward and hot in his dress robes. He picked up a sandwich from a platter-bearing elf nearby. He looked helplessly to Professor Dagworth-Granger. She was listening to a middle-aged wizard. With a jolt, Septimus realized it was the acclaimed author of the new Care of Magical Creatures textbook, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ He almost swallowed the toothpick in surprise.

"Amazing, absolutely amazing," Professor Dagworth-Granger was saying cordially. "I am so glad to have made your acquaintance."

"I read your book, too, sir," her son, Tom, piped up. "It was very cleverly organized. I learned quite a lot."

"Thank you- your son, I presume, Ms. Dagworth-Granger?" said Newt Scamander in a warm voice.

Professor Dagworth-Granger was about to reply when Slughorn tapped her. "Can I steal Hermione for just a minute, Newton?" he asked amiably. "You need to meet the Ollerton brothers! Founded the fabulously successful Cleansweep Broom Company, you know, and the youngest just out of Hogwarts, back in '26…" He led her away.

Mr. Scamander and Tom were left, staring at each other. "Very nice meeting you," Mr. Scamander managed with a smile at the nine year-old, then he turned to address a Hogwarts student who had a question. Tom gradually drifted to Septimus' corner.

"Hey Tom," he took pity on the boy. "Remember me from sixth-year Arithmancy?"

"Yeah, Septimus, right? Hermione said you wrote good essays," said Tom, wistfully glancing at where Professor Dagworth-Granger was in a animated discussion with the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation about American foreign policy.

"Well, I don't know about the essays," Septimus shrugged. "But I'm good at Wizard's Chess. You care for a game?"

"I don't know how to play," Tom told him.

"That's alright, I'll teach you. Just let me get my chess set."

A few minutes later, he returned, having Summoned the set from his room. They sat down on the wide window ledge to play.

"That's such a _Gryffindor_ move," Septimus heard from behind him. Twisting around, he looked up to see none other than Cedrella Black. She nodded in greeting. "Weasley."

"Hello," said Septimus automatically.

Cedrella sat down next to Tom, ignoring him. "I'm Cedrella," she said, smiling. "I don't take Arithmancy, but I've heard great things about your mother."

"Professor Slughorn said you were his best student," recalled Tom.

"Mm, close," said Cedrella, not modest at all. "You're making a mistake with that knight."

Cedrella was the toughest opponent Septimus had ever played. She took over Tom's game instead of allowing him to make his own moves. It was the most exciting game Septimus had ever played. Cedrella was ruthless. Tom sat cross-legged between them, pressed up against the glass, a little confusedly but Septimus was too intent on the game and entranced by his opponent to pay much attention to the boy. In the end, it was Septimus who beat Cedrella.

"Not bad, Weasley," she smirked as the party drew to a close. "For a Gryffindor."

"Sorry to take time away from your date," said Septimus.

Cedrella shrugged. "All he talks about is Quidditch. You want to teach me that trick you used on me back there?"

"Sure," said Septimus, not daring to breathe.

"Tomorrow's a Hogsmeade weekend. How about Ollivander's? No one'd go there. I'll need to 'ditch my entourage,'" she said, rolling her eyes. "11:30 should be time enough."

Septimus nodded.

Professor Dagworth-Granger came over just then. "Thank you both so much for being here with Tom." She took her son's hand. "It's way past your bedtime. Let's get these guests cleared out, shall we?"

Tom looked at his mother with a relieved smile. Septimus and Cedrella stood up to leave.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Black," said Professor Dagworth-Granger. "Good night."

Cedrella was stopped by her date on the way to the door. "What were you doing with that Weasley?" he grumbled, crossing his bulky arms.

Cedrella glanced at Septimus, who had bumbled into an elderly wizard and snagged his robes on the doorknob. He was stammering out an apology. She drew herself up and leveled a frosty stare at the Quidditch player, every inch the pureblooded aristocrat. "It was a game of chess," she tossed out. "Of course, nothing _you'd_ know anything about."


	22. Tom Has Several Questions

There was a mysterious air to Hermione, something Tom couldn't figure out. He knew next to nothing about his adopted mother. He wasn't the type to ask pointed questions, preferring to observe quietly- but there had been so little time to get to know her. The last time he tried to actively understand her was the Legilimency that first day- something he was embarrassed to remember. But then he'd been thrust into a world of magic, and he'd been distracted from learning about Hermione to learning about everything else. He couldn't be blamed for getting excited about dragons and fairies and spells in the Wizarding World. But now, as he thought about it, he realized she had been skirting around the topic of her history. It wasn't immediately noticeable, of course, or even intentional. She would go on about a particularly fascinating subject, and he would be drawn into it.

They did speak about other things. For example, the books he had been reading about magic. She was always ready with an answer, when she had time away from her classes. And the essays he wrote daily on what he learned- more like journal entries, really- she read carefully and mostly approved of them. And also, Muggle literature. Hermione had read more books than he did, of course, and always had something to say when he brought it up. But she was always busy with her lectures or her grading, and he was reluctant to admit that sometimes he felt neglected- a feeling he was used to, but never liked.

He had been waiting for the right time to make his move, but it never came. He figured this was as good a time as any.

"Been playing matchmaker with my students, have you?" teased Hermione when they got back to their quarters from Mr. Slughorn's Spring Bash. She started levitating piles of paper on her desk.

"Not exactly," frowned Tom. He hesitated.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Tom was visibly upset. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"I have something for you," was his reply.

She was led into his room, and made to sit on his bed. She was given a piece of parchment. "Tom, what's this?"

"As you can see," said her adopted son, standing before her a bit awkwardly, "I don't know much about you. I talked to some people, and they don't know much about you either. So I've been making a list of questions, to get to know you better." His face seemed conflicted with what expression to make, and finally settled on an innocent smile.

Hermione pursed her lips. She stared down the list. Tom's efficient handwriting pointed out almost everything she had been studiously avoiding telling him- asking her about where she lived, where her parents and family are, Hector Dagworth-Granger, where she went to school, her life in America, _why she adopted him at all_ … Her hand tightened, ever so slightly wrinkling the parchment. For a brief, frantic moment she considered Obliviating the boy, to make him forget that he'd ever given her this, or wrote it… Then she felt a burning shame. It was shame at the thought of doing that to the child. It was shame that Tom even needed to make that list, in an attempt to understand his mother because she had been hiding from him. Hermione was flooded with the revelation that she was a terrible parent.

She looked back up at Tom. He was still standing there with a pretense of nonchalance, waiting for her answers or her reaction. There was a momentous stifling feeling in the room, where both of them knew the gravity of the slip of paper and absolutely refused to let the other person know how important it personally was to them.

Hermione took a deep breath. She set the parchment aside. She opened her arms. "Here. Come here."

He took two steps, haltingly forward, and Hermione wrapped her arms around him and picked him up, pressing him close to her. She closed her eyes. Tom was stiff with shock and confusion, but he hesitatingly hugged her back. There was a peaceful pause where Tom relaxed a bit, then Hermione murmured, "I'm sorry, Tom."

"Hmm, what?" he asked.

"I'm sorry that you had to do this- make a list of everything I should have told you when we first met. You needed that from me, and I didn't give it. It's a very brave thing to do, going to someone you l- you've known for a long time and trying to fill in the holes. Not to mention wonderfully perceptive. I'm proud of you. Ok?"

"Ok," said Tom.

"You will get the answer to every single one of these questions, I promise. They'll take some time, especially the bigger ones like…" she pointed- "' _Why did you want to adopt a child instead of getting married first?_ '"

"Ok," said Tom.

"I can answer the first one right now. I live around 150 kilometers south of Hogwarts, in Scotland. It's a beautiful cottage on a lake, having once belonged to Hector Dagworth-Granger. How about I take you there over spring break? We can work through more questions then."

"Really? That's great!" said Tom, with a genuine smile.

Hermione took the parchment with her, and Tom trotted off to brush his teeth. Being the daughter of dentists, Hermione was slightly revolted when she realized that brushing teeth did not become commonplace until after World War II- and the toothpaste in jars around 1936 contained _soap_ , of all things. For her own household, she had created a special formula with some magical properties. Tom had included that in the list too, under a section entitled "Random Questions"- _Is there a reason why you care so much about dental health?_

She needed to sort out what she could tell the truth about, and where she needed to lie.


	23. Cedrella Black

Cedrella had never lost to anybody, which was why Septimus Weasley intrigued her. She briefly considered the possibility that he may be even better at chess, but that was almost impossible. She was prepared this time- she had gone over that game in her mind as her dormmates blathered on about frivolities the previous night, and she thought she knew his style.

He had brought his set with him, and she dismissed it with a wave. She thunked her own box down on the dusty back table at the Ollivander's branch at Hogsmeade. "No, Weasley. This time, we play with _my_ pieces."

As the pieces arranged themselves to start, Cedrella observed the boy sitting across from her. He was obviously intimidated by her family name, as he was sitting on his hands, not making eye contact, a slight flush on his face. She had never really paid any attention to the Gryffindor before, even though they were in the same year. But he was a worthy opponent, and- Cedrella flinched as she thought- under his owlish glasses, he had lovely cheekbones.

Quickly, they were drawn into the game. She took white, as she usually did- she thought it was fitting that she made the first move. An intense silence hung over the room, broken only by their commands to the pieces. The way he played- slow, cautious and countering her moves, pieces spread wide apart so they were harder to track- it was truly impressive. But then she had him- she offered two of her pawns, he took the bait and she mounted an attack on his king with both bishops. He didn't last long after. "Checkmate," she said seriously, with a rush of self-satisfaction.

Septimus sucked in a breath. He was beaten. He had never lost before either, and was humbled by the experience. "That was very risky," he said, referring to that opening she gave him.

"Yes," she said. "But I knew you would go for it."

"How?" Septimus tilted his head.

"Your game is commendable. You put up the pretense of being weak, when it's intricately solid- trying to get your opponent to underestimate you and do something rash. Yes?"

Septimus nodded once, slowly.

"But there's your problem- _you never back down_. Once you start something, you finish it." She quirked a genuine half-smile. "Very Gryffindor of you."

"You got me," said Septimus, matching her smile. "And can I say- your game is chaotic, played quickly and in an intimidating way to force your opponent to do something desperate and poorly thought out. It's because you have planned all the moves before the game even starts."

"Really? You could tell."

"Yes," Septimus returned, "And _your_ problem is that once something happens, that's not part of your plan, you are forced to improvise and when it gets to the point where you have no idea what your opponent is going to do next... that is when you lose."

Cedrella broke into a wide grin this time, and dipped her head in acceptance. She flicked her wand, and the set put itself away. The two teenagers rose, and Cedrella formally extended her hand over the table.

"Septimus," she said. "It's wonderful to make your acquaintance."

"Cedrella," he replied, taking her hand. "Likewise." And he hesitated for a fraction of a second, then bent down to lightly kiss her knuckles.

Cedrella felt a tingly feeling travel up her arm and into her chest. She inhaled sharply and let her arm fall to the table to pick up her Wizard's Chess box. "Can I assume…" she started.

"Same time next week?" both of them unexpectedly said at once, and there was a pause where they stared at each other. Then they both broke into relieved and sheepish laughter.

"We can't meet back here again," Septimus pointed out. "It's not a Hogsmeade weekend."

"I don't have any other places in mind, I'm afraid," said Cedrella.

Septimus picked up his chess set. "What about Professor Dagworth-Granger's room? She won't breathe a word about this, I'm sure."

Cedrella nodded her acceptance. "I'll leave first," she said. She thanked the shopkeeper and stepped out. Once the door closed behind her, she straightened, tilted her chin up, and strode off in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

Septimus followed, five minutes later. He felt exhilarated and euphoric. He couldn't believe he was meeting _Cedrella Black_ for chess matches. It was incredible. He turned back towards Hogwarts, each step feeling light as a feather.


	24. Tom Gets Answers

The Dagworth-Granger grounds were approximately three acres in total area. To the east, over the large pond and four kilometers of rolling hills on one dirt road, lay the Muggle town of Strathtay, along the Tay River. To the north and west was a forest and more Scottish mountains. Behind the greenhouse to the south, and over a stream feeding into the pond and a white picket fence, one could barely see the smoke rising from Blackhill Farm.

The air buzzed with springtime, and the calls of birds rang out over the water, sparkling in the morning light. The little dirt road wound smugly around the northern part of the pond, amidst wild heather- not yet in bloom- and led proudly up to the steps of the stone cottage.

The front door opened to a brightly-lit kitchen. Adjacent to it was a large parlor, with soft armchairs, a coffee table, and an old fireplace. A dining room in need of light dusting was further down a hallway, and stairs led up to the second floor to the bedrooms. But most amazing of all, the entire basement had been converted to an extensive potions lab, probably larger than the rest of the house. The walls were covered with bookshelves. The bookshelves were covered with books.

"This house pretty much explains most of your questions. It's such a beautiful little place, isn't it?" Hermione still had the list, folded in her pocket. She sat at the writing desk in the corner, lighting the kerosene lamp. "Here, Tom." She pointed at some questions. "Sit down." She dismissed the pang of regret at what she was about to do. _I will truthfully answer any questions you have for me_ , she had said when they first met. But she had no choice.

As the boy settled himself next to her, she began her story, taking out a Muggle pen. "My parents were Muggles. Both dentists, who lived in Hampstead, England. That's where I was born," she smiled, crossing out that question and " _What did your parents do for a living?_ "

"Brushing my teeth well was one of the first things they taught me. They also valued education, especially learning to enjoy reading and maths. They traveled extensively," Hermione continued. "We went all sorts of places as a family. I was born just before World War I broke out, so we didn't spend much time in Europe, at least when I was young- to get away from all the fighting. We lived in the States. When I got a raven from Ilvermorny, I found out I was a witch. We were living in New York City, and my parents were already running their own practice there. So I went to magic school." She crossed out the appropriate questions.

"You can ask all the questions you want about Ilvermorny, later. But I learned Arithmancy there. When the Great Crash happened, and the economy went downhill, I was in the middle of school. My parents lost their practice, and we decided to go back to Hampstead. It was hard living for them. The Wizarding World didn't have a depression, so when I Portkeyed to America every school year I left all that behind. We still had our house, but my parents struggled to pay the mortgage."

Tom was nodding, listening. "When I graduated, I got a job working at MACUSA, the Magical Congress of the United States of America- their government. I was an Auror, so I helped catch some criminals. I tried to send money home, but we couldn't save the house. Then there was the car accident." She closed her eyes and sighed. She looked back at Tom. He was buying it. The emotion was there, even though she knew the words were all false.

Hermione crossed a couple more questions off the list. "It was a hard time for me. I went back to Britain, because honestly being an Auror in the States isn't too great. The rules are very strict, and nobody associated with Muggles. I looked for a teaching job at Hogwarts. I've always liked Arithmancy. Then our very own Mr. Slughorn suggested that I take a blood test, since he knows about all the successful Wizarding families. So I did, and it turned out I was descended from Hector Dagworth-Granger, who had left me a house and a pile of gold at Gringotts."

"So you're saying… your parents only passed away a year ago?" Tom was incredulous.

"Yes," Hermione lied through her teeth.

Tom thought about it. Sometimes, as Hermione rested her eyes from paperwork or doing arithmancy research, she would look out the window, down at the castle grounds, with an expression of intense melancholy. It wasn't something very noticeable, and she would yawn or stretch or make some more tea. And it only happened a few times. But Tom decided that was true. He nodded for her to continue.

"According to Gringotts," Hermione went on, "Hector Dagworth-Granger insisted that unless there was a male heir, a female could not control the family assets. This practice is still very common among especially the old Wizarding families, and it means that I couldn't receive my inheritance unless I had a male child. Remember doing that blood-bonding ritual? That recognized you as my son."

Tom nodded. He knew it was strange that a young, unmarried woman- Hermione was age 21, he thought- would want to adopt, without some special circumstances that made her want that. The couples who visited the orphanage were mostly middle-aged, having tried all they could to have their own flesh-and-blood child before resorting to the children there.

"I guess that's why, then," he said. The answer was a little unsatisfying, but that was probably because it wasn't everyday that one was told his mother only wanted him because she couldn't get her house otherwise.

"Don't be unhappy," Hermione reassured him. "I looked around the orphanages in London for magical children, and found you quickly. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were meant to be part of my family."

"Yeah," Tom said in acceptance. He supposed every adopted child would have wondered at some point in their lives- what would have happened if it were a different family- or if there was some other child out there that would have perhaps fit their family better. It was probably just a normal part of being adopted, a feeling he would have to cope with and get over.

Hermione reviewed the list. The questions were mostly gone, except for… " _Where are your friends outside of work?_ " she read. "I went to school in America, so my friends- well, I wasn't too close to anyone," she said. "But my dormmate Cecilia used to be really interested in arithmancy, and economics. I think she's in Boston now. I used to also work with a guy named Tim, but he quit being an Auror to take care of his own magical menagerie, somewhere remote like Wyoming."

"Okay. One more question. ' _Why is your favorite book_ Hogwarts, a History _?_ '" Tom read.

She shrugged. "Well, it's where I work now, isn't it? It's cleverly organized, contains fascinating information… and it's where _you'll_ be going in two years."

Tom tilted his head. He knew books, and he knew that those weren't good enough reasons to have a favorite book. Hermione's reading material tended to be nonfiction, but she read enough good fiction that were clearly better than the informational history book. He stared at Hermione for a long time and decided to let it go.

"Okay," he said, hopping off his chair. "Thanks for answering my questions, Hermione."

"You're welcome," she said.

"Are we coming back here once school is over?" he asked, starting up the stairs.

Hermione snuffed the lamplight and followed him out of the potions lab. "Of course."

"Well…" he continued. "Can I have the room facing the mountains?"

"Absolutely," Hermione said. "You can have it now. We're staying the whole week, remember?"

"Oh yeah- great! What're we going to do?"

"Well," Hermione thought. "I definitely want to check out the library downstairs, and update some of the books. It seems they are all from the 18th century or older, when Hector Dagworth-Granger lived here. The potions equipment would need to be replaced for sure, and since I don't usually do a lot of potions, I might even make the potions area smaller and allow room for arithmancy experimentation. Lots of things to work on in the basement."

"You know what we could do?" said Tom suddenly. "We could wire the house with electricity! That wouldn't be too expensive, would it?"

"No," said Hermione slowly. "I think we can do it. It'll be a great change from Hogwarts- everybody's using torches on the walls." She nodded. "Good idea!"

"What are we going to plant in the greenhouse?" Tom asked, spotting it through the kitchen window. "It's springtime already."

"Well, you read a book on Herbology, didn't you? We can buy some interesting seeds in Diagon Alley- nothing too dangerous- and I can stop by the Ministry to register our fireplace for the Floo system. That way, we can Floo over on the weekends to check on the plants."

"Okay," said Tom. "Let's go right now."

"Wait a second!" Hermione laughed. "We need to go grocery shopping first, then lunch. For now, we need to take an inventory of what we need. Definitely new mattresses and sheets. How about you make a list?"

"Sure."

Hermione still felt distinctly uncomfortable with their conversation in the basement about her fake life. She took a deep breath and tried to forget it.

Upstairs, Tom stood at the window of his new room with the majestic view. The closure he had gotten wasn't as satisfying as he thought it would have been. He hoped he would eventually grow closer to his mother, and come to understand her. He wished the nagging feeling would go away.

He found a piece of parchment and started the shopping list.


	25. Estella

"I want a poisonous one," Tom said as they approached the entrance to the reptile shop in Knockturn Alley, because the Magical Menagerie did not carry snakes. Horatio's Horrendous Herpetofauna had taken Hermione quite a while to find, and she still wasn't sure if all the creatures were strictly licensed.

She said, "No promises." They opened the door and a blast of warm, humid air greeted them. A charmed statue of a hydra screeched their welcome into the dim shop, where the only lit areas were light sources above reptile tanks and cages. A short, thin, moustached man came around the corner.

"What're you looking for?" he addressed Hermione.

"Snakes, if you have them," Hermione began.

"Black mamba!" interrupted Tom. "Or king cobra. Unless you have an Occamy or an Ashwinder…"

"Nothing too dangerous, or expensive," Hermione finished.

The man looked at her with a bored expression. "This way," he said.

Tom scurried around, conversing with the snakes in Parseltongue. Hermione smiled innocently at the shopkeeper, who looked thunderstruck. "Runs in the family," she explained.

Tom peered into the mesh cage of a sunning rattlesnake. " _Hey_ ," he said to him. " _Wake up._ "

The rattlesnake raised his head. " _A Speaker?_ " he hissed to himself. " _It's a magical human boy-creature. What does it want?_ "

" _I'm looking for the right snake to become my familiar,_ " said Tom. Then he decided, " _But I can't have you- you're talking to me in the third person. That's too weird to get used to._ "

The adjacent tank contained a horned viper. " _Don't pay attention to him_ ," she hissed, half buried in the sand. " _A human Speaker- what a rarity. I'd like to be your familiar._ "

" _You are beautiful,_ " Tom agreed, admiring her yellow scales and handsome horns.

She raised herself up further so he could see her while belly. " _I am extremely poisonous_ ," she continued, red forked tongue flicking out. " _I could kill a person with one strike._ "

" _Amazing_ ," Tom agreed.

The viper preened. " _Do you have an oasis, where you live?_ " she asked. " _And the sand there is not too rough?_ "

" _I don't have an oasis at all,_ " said Tom apologetically.

She shrank back, scales making a rasping sound. " _No oasis?_ "

Tom heard another voice behind him. " _She's too high-maintenance,_ " it said. He turned around to see a tiny emerald snake nodding at him.

" _What are you?_ " Tom asked.

" _That_ ," the horned viper sniffed aristocratically, " _is a commoner. A basic green garden snake. Don't waste your time_."

" _She's a liar,_ " the garden snake retorted. " _Her venom kills small rodents. The worst her bite'll give you is a headache._ "

" _Really?_ " Tom said, a trifle disappointed. " _Well, what can you do?_ "

" _I am a boomslang,_ " she said. " _My skin is used in rare potions, and my venom is slow-acting but fatal to humans._ "

" _You don't even have fangs!_ " the viper bit out. " _You are clearly a garden snake._ "

" _My fangs haven't grown in yet,_ " said the snake doubtfully.

"Excuse me, sir?" Tom said in English to the shopkeeper. "What kind of snake is that?"

"It's a green garden snake," the shopkeeper replied warily.

"She insists that she is a boomslang," Tom informed him.

"Only male boomslangs are green in colour," the man said authoritatively.

Tom turned back to the little snake. " _What did the keeper say?_ " she wanted to know.

" _Sorry, you're a garden snake,_ " Tom said.

She seemed to deflate, but then brightened up. " _Perhaps I'm an eastern green mamba,_ " she said. " _Then my venom would kill in just thirty minutes. No good in potions ingredients though,_ " she added.

Tom considered the plain little snake. She was very small- just long enough to wrap around his arm once. But she had exceptionally expressive, shining eyes, unlike the viper's cunning, slitted pupils. " _How do you feel about coming with me?_ " he asked.

She tilted her head. " _I'd like that._ "

" _What do you eat?_ "

" _She gets fed crickets, with a pair of forceps,_ " the spiteful horned viper said derisively.

" _Shush, you,_ " said Tom, who was liking the viper less and less.

" _Yeah, pick on somebody your own size,_ " hissed the green garden snake.

"Hermione?" said Tom, switching to English. "I think I'll take her."

"I thought you wanted a poisonous one," Hermione said.

"That's okay," said Tom. "Can I take her out?"

When the shopkeeper placed the snake into Tom's cupped palms, she immediately slithered up his arm, curled around his ear, and nestled herself at the top of his head. " _Oh, I like that,_ " she said. " _What should I call you, Speaker?_ "

" _My name is Tom,_ " he replied. " _What's your name?_ "

" _We don't have names,_ " she said.

Tom watched Hermione pay for the snake, her cage, and a bag of crickets.

" _I think I shall call you Estella,_ " he told her.

The snake tested it. " _Estella. Esssssstella,_ " she hissed. " _Estella, the eastern green mamba._ " She drew herself up, proudly perched in his hair. " _It has a nice ring to it._ "


	26. Julius Malfoy Predicts War

Hermione looked up when she heard Julius Malfoy's knock on her office door. "Come in," she said.

"Professor Dagworth-Granger," the thirteen year-old seemed wary- "You wanted to see me about my presentation?"

Hermione drew a tense smile. "Yes. Please sit down, Mr. Malfoy." She placed Julius's handwritten research paper on the desk. "This is different from what you initially proposed," she started.

"Yes, Professor," said Julius politely. "I was unsure with what to do, so I turned in a working proposal at the beginning, but I quickly changed it."

"Tell me," said Hermione, crossing her fingers together, "What made you choose this topic?"

Julius was quiet. "You said we could choose anything," he said. "I wanted to look at something that would possibly greatly impact modern society. Professor."

"This certainly would greatly impact modern society," agreed Hermione. She waited.

"Is there-" Julius was uncertain- "Is there something wrong with my algorithm?"

Hermione shuffled through the 41-page document. "Nothing. You've covered and correctly analyzed every conceivable event leading up to your conclusion."

"What was it you wanted to see me about, Professor?" he finally asked.

"Mr. Malfoy," Hermione replied. "Do you plan on presenting your results to the third-year class?"

"Yes," he said confusedly. "It was part of the assignment."

"This knowledge," she reminded him, "holds great and terrible power."

"I don't understand, Professor. How could it? These would have to be the same results that the Ministry would have already- and probably with more detail, too."

"The Ministry," said Hermione slowly, "is afraid of these results. They could very well mean war. The government," she ground out, "would rather hold their heads in the sand and wait for a savior to come along at the last possible minute."

"Why?" Julius questioned.

"None of us like to see bad news, even when it's a fact. Obviously, some things are left unsaid there. Stating the obvious on your part would not have a positive effect."

"If that's true," said Julius, "it would hardly do any harm, would it?"

"It would damage many people in positions of power. It would pit your family against Minister Fawley's bureaucracy. It would be safer for you if nothing was said."

"It's the truth," he said. "My family holds a seat on the Wizengamot, we won't be hurt. If we keep quiet about this, well- we're no better than they are."

Hermione nodded. "I wanted to make sure you know exactly what you're doing."

"I know what I'm doing," said Julius.

"Then you wouldn't mind," began Hermione, "if your research paper was published to the Daily Prophet newspaper and the International Journal of Arithmancical Advances…"

"You'd really do that?" Julius breathed.

"I'll make sure of it, Mr. Malfoy. You clearly went above beyond the premises of the assignment. I couldn't have done it better myself, with the resources available to you. Take fifty points to Slytherin for outstanding research and fearless defense of the truth."

"Thank you, Professor," Julius glowed.

"You're certainly welcome," said Hermione. "You may go now."

As he trotted out, Hermione leafed through the boy's paper. The arithmancy was impeccable. No bureaucrat could argue with it. But it was disturbingly prophetic, like all arithmancy algorithms that predict future events, based on analyzing previous events with a probability density function. And it will come true, based on her own knowledge of the future. She cursed the Ministry's inaction, allowing the situation to progress so that any competent third-year will begin to see the pattern.

Julius's chilling conclusion: In the time between his escape from MACUSA almost a decade ago, Grindelwald had allied himself with the Führer of Germany, Adolf Hitler. He was building an army. Hermione knew each country was on their own- there were no global alliances, and the International Convention of Wizards, though holding immense power, was a joke- they were staunch defenders of the Statute of Secrecy, nothing more. As long as Grindelwald kept that army secret, they would turn a blind eye. He will subjugate the Wizarding communities of Czechoslovakia and Austria first. Then he will move to France and Britain.

The question is- now that Hermione had inserted herself into the timeline, what would she do about it?


End file.
